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A quiet rustle made itself audible behind the doors: the little house-sprites moved quietly near the walls, and whispered and waited. Awakened by a low sigh, Grisha arose. He walked out into the garden and stood listening with downcast eyes near the railing. He was smiling, but without joy. Who knew whether the other would rejoice?
His throat, as if clutched by some one's fingers, shivered convulsively. His eyes dilated widely, and the flaming darkness of the nailed-up coffin swept before them. As he tossed about in the tight coffin, tormented by his dread, Egorka moaned, and whispered in a dull voice: "Three house-sprites, three wood-sprites, three fallen sprites!" The gate to the burial-ground was open.
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